Unexplained
by 5NordicCuties
Summary: Something is happening to Italy and he doesn't know what. He'll try and hide it, but to what extent can he? disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya but this is my story idea :D plus... i really didn't know what genres to put this under sooooo...? anyways, as we go along you'll eventually see what its true genre is, ok?
1. Chapter 1

_Pasta._ Supposedly, Germany didn't like it whenever Italy talked about it. The ginger Italian sat at the world conference. He didn't really _want_ to go but Germany forced him. Taking a look around, Italy recognized most of the other nations in the room but couldn't put a name with a face for most. They were all sitting, minding their business; fighting with each other; or in Russia's case, sitting there being as creepy as… just really creepy. Italy sighed and turned his attention back to the notebook in front of him on the table. Germany had given it to him so that maybe he would actually take useful notes during one of the meetings. Instead he used it for drawings. He looked up at Greece took look at his adorable reference that was sitting on the Greek's shoulder. He continued drawing his picture of the white, fluffy cat. How couldn't he? Cats were so cute!

Italy yawned loudly and stretched, annoying the German who was talking at the head of the table. Goodness, he needed a siesta. And food. Yeah, that sounded nice: food and a siesta. But he couldn't right now because he was tuck in this boring meeting. The atmosphere of the room was tense, loud, and quite stuffy. Italy needed out for a bit. He raised his hand.

"Germany! Germany!" The blonde raised an eyebrow in irritation, blue eyes slightly narrowed. "Can I go to the bathroom?"

"Ja, ja. Just hurry up."

Italy jumped up from his seat and made his way out into the hall. He strolled down towards the bathroom, making a few detours. He didn't actually have to go; he just wanted something else to do. He went outside and took a short walk around the garden. So pretty! The small male inhaled deeply as his mouth spread into a large grin. The sun was warm as it beat down on his pale skin. It was a very nice day out. Maybe he'd ask Germany afterwards if he wanted to do something outside. Well, besides training. After deciding he should go to the bathroom to give his excuse depth, he turned around and headed back to the building. He found the farthest restroom just to take up more time. Italy entered into the men's bathroom on the third floor and entered one of the stalls. He sat on the toilet not really doing anything, just sitting.

Suddenly, nausea hit his stomach. He wrapped his arms around his middle, squeezing himself. Then it turned into feeling like something was tearing apart his insides. It passed but a headache set in. Italy stumbled to his feet and struggled to unlock the stall door. He stumbled out and fell against the sink. He stared down at the bowl of the sink and clenched his hands on the sides. His forehead scrunched up and his eyes shut. He breathed in deeply and then opened his eyes. Italy raised his head and looked into the mirror. His eyes widened in shock. They were blood red. His usually red hair was a dark brown. There were dark circles under his eyes. He squeezed his eyes closed. No. That was wrong.

Opening his eyes again, he gazed at his reflection. Suddenly, his reflection grinned and raised his hands. They were covered in blood and the red dripped down his arms. He realized he was also holding up his hands. He looked at them. Clean. He glanced back at his reflection. There was a smirk. He shook his head and ran out of the bathroom. His eyes were wild and scared as he stood outside the door. He bit his lip as tears streamed down his face. He turned on his heel and sprinted back to the meeting room. Nothing was wrong. Nothing was wrong. It was his imagination. It was his fucking imagination. He froze and stopped running. He had never sworn before. Never in his life. He growled and started running again. He scrubbed his face with his fists to get rid of the tears. He stopped outside the meeting room and listened in before making his quiet entrance into the room.

Italy sat down silently and closed his notebook, ignoring the cat pictures. He pretended to pay attention but his mind was distracted. What was happening to him? He sank down against the back of his chair. Soon everything turned silent and Italy looked around him. Everyone was gone besides Germany who was packing up his things. The blonde nation looked up at the unusually quiet Italian nation. Italy returned the gaze with a slightly harsh look. Germany blinked but it was gone. Italy stood and picked up his things and headed for the door.

"Hurry up." He internally cringed. He looked away towards the door before pushing out a, "I'm hungry; I want to make… pasta."

Germany huffed and pushed past him. He grumbled something that the Italian didn't quite catch. "Ja, I know come on."

Italy was able to cheerfully make pasta. Prussia and Romano had both joined them for dinner. Romano looked as excited as a teenager at a preschool concert. But Prussia on the other hand was his normal egotistical self. Italy placed the pot of pasta down on the table. The sauce was Alfredo because for some reason he was unable to bring himself to make the red tomato sauce. Throughout dinner, Italy remained for the most part quiet except for random points of him laughing or telling a story. Italy excused himself from dinner and shut himself in his room.

He fell to his knees and hugged the side of the bed. He turned his head to the tall standing mirror across the room. That scary brown haired and red eyed self stared back. He looked away and buried his face into the bed sheets. Was he going insane? He groaned and jerked up. He lifted his hand and threw something. _Thud._ He blinked and looked at the wall. Imbedded in the wall was one of the kitchen knives. Here it had landed sent chills down his spine and he slid to the ground. He covered his head with his arms and sobbed.

It had pierced right through the heart of a picture of Germany on the wall.


	2. Chapter 2

Italy woke up in an uncomfortable position. He groaned and sat up. For the first time ever he was completely awake and alert. He stood and walked over to the knife protruding from the wall. He gripped the handle and yanked it out. He'd return it to the kitchen collection.

He stepped out of his room silently listening to the eerily quiet house. He surprised himself. He had gotten up before Germany. He slipped the knife into his pants almost instinctively. He sat down on top of the counter, swinging his legs back and forth. He stayed silent listening to the lack of noise. His ears picked up movement from Germany's room so he slipped back off he counter and slid into a corner of the kitchen.

The muscular blonde nation yawned and stretched as he entered the assumingly unoccupied kitchen. He turned on the coffee machine and ran a hand through his hair. "Italy's still in bed... Like usual." He sighed as he grumbled. Italy's eyebrow twitched some as he stepped out of his corner. As Germany turned, Italy slumped his shoulders and quickly made his eyes halflidded as if he were still sleepy. "Ah! Italy, I didn't expect you to be up at this time."

The ginger Italian shrugged his shoulders and flung open the fridge.

"Well, good morning to you too, Italia." Italy snorted at that.

"I don't do good morning, you know that Lutz." His eyes widened at what just slipped out of his mouth. His eyes narrowed. Something was stealing him.

"Who's Lutz?" Italy forced on his most convincing smile and glanced back at the German.

"Haha, no silly, I said Luds as in short for Ludwig~!" He felt proud of sounding more like himself but part of him cringed at the cheer.

"Oh.." He didn't sound entirely convinced and his earlier question had Italy frowning. Who was Lutz? Better yet, maybe, who was he turning into?

A few weeks had past without too much incident making Italy feel more confident. But coming to think of it, perhaps that confidence boost was what finally set it completely off...

Italy woke up with a start. He looked into the mirror at the foot of his bed. Staring back was no longer that other self but his normal self. Suddenly his reflection did something. It started crying and pawing at the mirror. Pitiful. He looked away and pulled out his cell. He flipped the camera to look at himself. He was what used to haunt his reflection. His hair had changed to a brown and his eyes were like blood. A thin scar traced itself across his face.

Somehow it didn't matter to him. He got dressed in a tan uniform and black boots, much more fitting of him then his old, cheery, blue uniform. He sneaked out of the house after stealing one of Germany's pistols and arming himself with two sharp knives.

Just his luck, Romano came storming up to the front of the house. "FRATELLO, WHAT THE FUCK DID I TELL YOU YESTERDAY-" Romano halted and froze. "Feliciano?" Italy kept walking past him. He took Romano by surprise in pressing a quick knife to his neck. "Feli...?"

"If you tell anyone about this, I will fucking slit your throat."


End file.
